nothing burns like the cold // p

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    [center][fancypost=bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; height:; width: 420px; text-align: justify;][font='Times New Roman, Times, serif'][size=12]Although he'd long ago abandoned his birthplace, Jochi still kept his feelers out to receive the news of the Seven Kingdoms. The last thing he'd learned had left him conflicted. Jaehaerys Targaryen was dead, killed by an unknown assassin—most probably Fortinbras Lyndery, who was next in line for the throne. On the one hand, that meant that the throne had fallen to a different House, and Jochi, who had once been a staunch supporter of the Targaryens, didn't like that. On the other hand, he was a Targaryen no longer, and Jaehaerys had most probably been his nephew, the son of one of his brothers. Jochi might pardon the former king if he'd been descended from Burdock or Whistleblower, but his relationship had never been good with Moonstruck, and Vienna and Tsubodai had aligned themselves on the wrong side of the war. It didn't occur to the dark dragon that Jaehaerys had come from a different line of Targaryens: theirs was the most dominant.


    He sat alone beneath the scorching desert sun, silver eyes half narrowed. He had no wish to go back to Westeros or, indeed, any other group. If only Elaena was still there. His daughter had run off to her ancestral home a little less than a year earlier, tired of life with him, but he hadn't heard hide nor hair of her since. It was too bad. The time was ripe to see that his line, and not Tsubodai's or Vienna's, rose.



    AERAMOR TARGARYEN


    The news of Jaehaerys' death had not yet been pronounced to the young Aeramor, though, had he'd known he might have fled to Westeros already. He'd never been to Westeros before, but he heard great tales during his childhood and how he were a prince Targaryen. The idea had always stuck around in the back of his mind, what it would be like to be a prince living in Westeros, claiming the title for what it was. However, the idea had faded with his adolescence. He stopped dreaming of what it'd be like, how life would be if he lived in Westeros. He grew to accept his fate as a disabled beast; with no wings to soar over the oceans and travel to lands abroad. His heart merely mourned the loss of being great. His dreams turned into nightmares, and his laughter turned into tears, his joy into anger and regret. To him, it was as if he'd given up his own future and traded it in for a lesser one. He chose to fight the other who stole his wings.


    A deep sigh had passed through his lips as he craned his neck to peer toward the desert wasteland before him, amber eyes landing on a familiar dragon in the distance. He watched briefly as his father sat there alone. He had wondered what it was that was on his father's mind, not once coming up with the assumption of his cousin's death, nor even thinking of Westeros, or the throne. After a while had passed, he'd have stood and began to walk toward the dragon in the distance. He moved slowly under the sun as if he were attempting to withstand his energy. Although, he was accustomed to living in the heat of the sun ever since he were a hatchling. He was probably laid somewhere in the sand, the cell of a useless prince among other cells of those more worthy. It was in these lands, under the same weather circumstances, that he was taught all that he knows.
    He stepped a few feet behind his father, watching closer at his features as he seated himself. "Father?" He had called out softly, "What are you thinking about?" He waited patiently for a response.



    [center][color=white](c)trexgirl

    [center][fancypost=bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; height:; width: 420px; text-align: justify;][font='Times New Roman, Times, serif'][size=12]Aeramor's soft voice stirred Jochi from his musings. His pose straightened, becoming more like a commanding general than a relaxing nobleman, as he turned toward the young dragon. Aeramor was quite the sight. He could have been strong, magnificent, and although he certainly still was, he was crippled: a dragon without wings was just an overgrown lizard. When his son had returned home, bloodied and wingless, Jochi had been enraged, and he'd had half a mind to tear after the bastard that had hurt his boy and teach him the errors of his way, but Aeramor had required his attention. Aeramor had grown since then, and Jochi had grown used to the sight of his wingless body, but he could not forget that Aeramor would never again know the joy of flight.


    Aeramor's manner remained patient, and his tone respectful. It he ever left Jochi—and that time would come eventually, one way or another—for Westeros, the courtesies of the highborn wouldn't through him off. Of course not. He was of royal blood, from both Jochi's mother and his father, although of late the black dragon had begun to think that lineage meant little. Power resided in the minds of men, and it it got there by way of strength. Jaehaerys Targaryen, whichever of Jochi's kin he descended from, had become king after ending an invasion. Whoever had killed him lacked that asset, that display of strength.


    Beckoning Aeramor closer, he announced dismissively, "Westeros." His son had heard many tales of the kingdom and of Dorne, the region that Jochi had fought for when he rebelled. "Their king died. Killed by the Hand, I'd wager." The Hand: the second in command, a rank Jochi had once thought he'd attain. He'd been on the high path for success, or so he liked to think, but now he was just a wanderer of the desert.



    AERAMOR TARGARYEN


    The word 'Westeros' alone had reminded him of his past, a time when all he could dream of was to fly over the lands that had seemed foreign to him. He had wanted to see the several cities that made up the land, meet the civilians that lived there, and perhaps visit occasionally. However, should he end up in Westeros now, he'd become stuck there with no way to leave and unless Jochi visited the kingdom; he'd never see him again. With that in mind, Aeramor had simply shut the thoughts down in his mind long ago. Along with the thoughts leaving his imagination, came anew ones of endless travel in the desert. It'd be nearly impossible for him to leave.


    The wingless beast scooted himself closer to his father, much similar to the way he had when he was juvenile and it had been story time. He had a deep innocence in his eyes as he listened to his father's next words, ears moving forward with curiosity and falling to the news —"You mean, Jaehaerys is dead?" He'd remembered his father telling him months ago of Jaehaerys being made the king of Westeros and how Jaehaerys was Jochi's nephew and his cousin. Unsure how to feel, Aeramor's mouth hung open with shock and he looked away from his father. "The Hand is to be loyal to the king," He contemplated aloud, "Why would the Hand betray him?"
    In the short moment of silence that had followed his words, he began to speculate and wonder about Westeros; Was Jaehaerys a bad king that drove his kingdom to plot a murder scheme? Or was the Hand truly after the throne? What would happen if the young dragon showed up? Would he rise to power due to inheritance? Or would he have to kill the new king? What if the new king was a queen? Could he marry her and rise to power?


    He shook his head as his thoughts became impractical. He was a wingless dragon. No one would believe that he killed the king and no one would believe that he found a mate of such power. Besides, there was a possibility that he'd be executed instead of becoming the throne's replacement. That, and he found it hard to want to kill someone.



    [center][color=white](c)trexgirl

    [center][fancypost=bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; height:; width: 420px; text-align: justify;][font='Times New Roman, Times, serif'][size=12]For all of Aeramor's strengths, it sometimes seemed to Jochi that he was too sheltered. But of course he was: he was growing up alone in the desert, his only company his family and the occasional wanderer, and although Jochi wasn't a soft father, he hadn't exactly made sure that the boy saw just how tough the world could be first hand. What did he know of lust for battle or power? When had he been given the chance to experience it? He'd been in a major fight just once: by his age, Jochi had killed a man and seceded against one of the only homes he'd ever known. Now Aeramor wanted to know why Jochi suspected the Hand, something that seemed so blindly obvious to the jet black dragon.
    "Jaehaerys," he agreed, although he was not sure he liked the way Aeramor emphasized the fallen ruler's name. Could his son sympathize with his cousin, the child of an amoral, treacherous Targaryen, likely one Jochi hated with all his passion? Jaehaerys was simply Westeros' former king, not someone who a name needed to be given to. Not someone to be respected. Expression twisting, he impatiently answered, "I'm sure you can figure that out on your own."


    He was quiet for a long moment, head bent toward Aeramor. "The realm is sure to be unstable now." The death of a monarch wasn't easy. Unless there was someone strong to seize control, chaos followed. Such were the laws of the world. "It would be easy to win a crown." He let out a short, harsh bark of laughter. "But the crown of Westeros isn't worth much." As he'd observed to the Uller lord not long ago, he'd lost his taste for crowns, and he'd definitely lost his taste for Westeros—not that one would know, with the way he was harping on it.



    AERAMOR TARGARYEN


    Aeramor briefly watched as the wind had lifted up several specks of sand, carrying them away in a whirlwind of dust. He made a mental connection, the sand represented death, and the whirlwind; opportunity. His eyes lifted from the ground and his head wasn't too far behind as he moved to face his father, who'd began to answer his questions. Jaehaerys had been the kingdom's most recent king, so that was no surprise to him. However, what did surprise him was the response that followed his other question.


    Jaehaerys was murdered by his disloyal Hand. Or, perhaps his thoughts were right? Jaehaerys was a mystery to Aeramor, even if he'd heard of him a select few times. The young dragon had started to go through the ideas of how and why the Hand had killed the king, however, he chose to refrain from voicing his opinion. His father seemed somewhat disinterested in the conversation, that, or his father merely wished not to speak of Jaehaerys. He'd have looked away from his father momentarily, only listening to his voice as he peered into the distance.
    Jochi had broken the new silence, drawing in his son's attention once more.
    His son could certainly agree on the unstable kingdom, simply nodding his head in understanding. It could take months, perhaps even years, just to bounce back to their original state of life. Sometimes, new rulers had stunted the healing process and if what had been assumed had been true; the kingdom would need a long time to recover.


    A sense of hope had replaced the innocence in his eyes, and although there was a hint of sorrow and remorse for the fallen king, Aeramor had felt overwhelmed with opportunity. It was everywhere. His father had brushed it off with a laugh, easing Aeramor into a smile. "Would you feel the same way if I were the king?" He asked.



    [center][color=white](c)trexgirl

    [center][fancypost=bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; height:; width: 420px; text-align: justify;][font='Times New Roman, Times, serif'][size=12]For a moment, the silence between them was peaceful, and Jochi twisted slightly, wings flaring to allow the sun full access to his back. He'd always enjoyed the warmth. As a child, he'd thought himself more Targaryen than Martell, but he'd preferred the Dornish heat of his Martell father's lands to the dirty, cold capital city where his mother had ruled from. Perhaps that had influenced his decision to join his father, when the civil war broke out, although Jochi was more inclined to say that Queen Lorina had broken the treaty she had with Dorne, and he would not side with an oathbreaker.


    The change in position had helped, and for a moment, a warm glow seemed to surround him as Jochi grew accustomed to the new warmth. He was, without a doubt, a creature of fire; funny, when the brother he most resembled was an ice dragon. Perhaps that had something to with the fact that he'd opposed his brother. Although they shared qualities, fire and ice couldn't peacefully coexist.


    Aeramor raised his voice once more, and Jochi had to refocus that cool silver gaze on his son. If Aeramor was the king...oh, but that was a loaded question. He loathed Westeros, and had given up on it himself. He wouldn't want to watch his own blood serve the realm that had betrayed him, but to rule the realm was more than just serving—although it seemed to Jochi that, in his father's palace down in Dorne, he'd heard that a king's primary job was to serve his people. To rule Westeros was to be able to change it; to right the wrongs that it had done. He'd be lying if he said that he didn't want to see his side of the family grown strong again: he wanted nothing more.


    Blinking, he deflected the question by asking, "Do you plan on leaving and becoming king?"



    AERAMOR TARGARYEN


    Aeramor had continued to smile softly, as if the topic was light-hearted enough for a bit of smiles and laughter. However, the more his eyes read his father's reaction, the more dull his smile became. He merely watched with careful eyes as his father replied.
    The question seemed hard, yet easy to the young dragon. Indeed, he wanted to become king. He also wanted to ally the Martell house with the Targaryen house, to rekindle both houses in order to make them great. However, these wishes had seemed like nothing more but childish dreams. It could take his whole lifetime to become king and by that time, he might not have the energy to make the houses great. And who's to say that the throne isn't all that it seems?


    He inhaled deeply and held his breath, repositioning his posture to appear much larger and bolder. He turned to look into the sky for answers to his father's question, but of course, nothing had happened. He sighed to drop his head. "I'm not sure what I plan on doing, but kingship is in fact what interests me." He admitted. "However, it is impossible." He stated softly.


    [center][color=white](c)trexgirl